


Of All The Stars Most Beautiful

by lucifersfavoritechild



Series: Ironstrange Fics [19]
Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: BUT I've already watched both Marie Antoinette AND The Duchess and I feel like that's enough, F/F, I could do research, M/M, Multi, Nobility, Period Era AU, are the aristocracy an oppressive force against the common people whose lives they control? yes, but this is not that fic, egregious Sappho references, egregrious Sappho references, gaaaaay, vaguely 1700s, was actual important stuff happening historically in this time in place? yes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:35:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22261936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucifersfavoritechild/pseuds/lucifersfavoritechild
Summary: Christine has always known that her husband, Stephen Strange, is more interested in men than her. Since she prefers women, this works out well for her. And when the Marquis Tony Stark takes Stephen as a lover, Christine begins falling for his wife . . .
Relationships: Christine Palmer/Pepper Potts, Christine Palmer/Pepper Potts/Tony Stark/Stephen Strange, Tony Stark/Stephen Strange
Series: Ironstrange Fics [19]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1095672
Comments: 30
Kudos: 149





	1. Chapter 1

_“You came and I was crazy for you_

_and you cooled my mind that burned with longing”_

— Sappho, Fragment 48

Christine crossed her legs, then uncrossed them. The carriage was moving along steadily, a team of four fine horses trotting energetically. Across from her, Stephen was reading one of his medical books by the light of an open window. He noticed her anxious movements and paused, looking at her. “Are you well, Christine?”

She ducked her head demurely. “It is only the motion of the carriage.” They’d been on the road for all of the past few days, with only a few stops during the day to eat and rest the horses, and at an inn last night to sleep before rising before the sun and leaving again. She was exhausted, but the endless motion of the carriage kept her from sleeping.

“We’re nearly there,” Stephen said in his attempt at comfort. He was anxious, she knew, more so than she’d seen him in a long time. His face was drawn tight, and his eyes didn’t have their usual light to them. When she looked at the page he was on, she could tell that he had barely read anything.

“Are you nervous?” Christine asked.

Stephen shook his head, quickly looking away. “Why would I be?”

 _Why, indeed?_ Stephen had no right to be more nervous than her. Stark knew _him,_ loved him, had sent for him. Christine was the unwanted wife, joining them because there was nothing else to be done with her. 

Marquis Stark had been introduced to her husband after Stephen was called upon to perform surgery on Lieutenant James Rhodes. No one thought he would survive after his leg was ruined by gangrene and an infection overtook him after fighting in the colonies, but Stephen did the amputation himself and tended to James for a month. He’d lost a leg and would never walk again, but he lived. Anthony Stark had personally rewarded Stephen for saving his friend’s life and the rest was history, as they say.

Christine was pulled from her thoughts when Stephen sat up straight, looking out the window before pulling the curtain closed. “We’re here.”

Christine quickly went about straightening herself up to the best of her ability, gathering her things before fixing her hair and replacing her hat. She feared it wasn’t enough, but then the carriage had slowed and stopped, and it was too late.

The door opened. Stephen stood first and went out, a moment later offering a hand to help her down. Before them were a man and a woman. She had seen Anthony Stark before, though they had not been properly introduced, but the woman beside him . . .

Virginia Stark was a woman of originally low social standing who’d been raised high by her marriage. Even amongst the Stranges’ social circle, she had been mentioned. Though her wit and intelligence were almost famous, it was her beauty that was spoken of most often — her red-blonde hair, sharp yet delicate features, and clear, bright blue eyes.

Christine was stunned to realize how true it was.

“Christine,” Stephen said, reminding her of herself, “this is Lord Anthony Stark, and his wife Virginia. Tony, this is my wife, Christine Strange.”

Not knowing what else to do, Christine dropped into a curtsey, lowering her eyes. “Lord Stark, thank you for welcoming me into your home—”

Before she had even finished speaking, Virginia had stepped forward and gently pulled her back up, looping their arms together. “There’s no need for all that,” she said, with an almost secretive smile. “There’s no one else here but the house staff. We can be as informal as we like.”

Christine wasn’t quite sure why she blushed.

* * *

“Are the rooms to your liking?”

It was an effort not to jump from the lounge that she was resting on, but Christine managed, if only because she was determined not to embarrass herself or Stephen in front of their hosts. The four of them were in one of the manor’s sitting rooms. Stephen was playing one of Bach’s pieces on the piano while Tony gazed adoringly at him. All of them were relaxing after a quiet dinner.

. . . Quiet on Christine’s part, that is. Tony and Stephen hadn’t been able to stop speaking.

Christine set her book aside and moved so that Virginia could sit next to her. “They’re perfect. Your home is so beautiful.” It was not a lie. The Starks’ manor was the most ornate place she had ever stayed in, filled with gold and silver ornaments, expertly carved wood, crystal chandeliers, colorful paintings, and gilt furniture. Her own bedroom was connected to a library filled with more books than she could ever hope to read.

But the most magnificent things were the gifts that the Lady had left — silk stockings and soft white gloves, three new painted fans, and a box of jewelry made of diamonds and sapphires and amethysts. And books, books of science and poetry and medicine.

It was all too much. Despite the Marchioness’s silent assurances, Christine could not help feeling inadequate. Her simple off-white linen dress paled beside Lady Stark’s rich purple silks, and Christine herself felt plain next to Virginia’s beauty. 

Still, it would not do to pity herself out loud. “I must thank you for your kind gifts, Virginia. I hadn’t even expected—”

“Pepper.”

Christine stopped, looking at the other woman. “Pardon?”

“You can call me Pepper.” She rolled her eyes. “It’s a nickname that Tony gave me when we met. You see, a man was harassing me at the time, and I used a liquid made from peppers to drive him off.” She leaned in, whispering conspiratorially. “Tony thought it was the most spectacular thing.”

Christine couldn’t help her laugh. Somehow, she found it perfectly easy to believe that the refined, put-together woman in front of her was capable of single-handedly driving off unwanted pursuers.

Unbidden, she looked at the men on the other side of the room. Stephen was still at the piano, seeming unusually at ease as he played, Tony sitting beside him with his chin in his hand.

She looked back to Pepper, unsure how to broach the topic. “And you and Anthony . . . you’re aware—”

“Of his . . .” She smirked. “Tendencies?”

Christine nodded, feeling her neck heat up.

“I have been for a long time. It’s one of the reasons we wed. He needed someone who could keep his secret, and I was the same.”

 _Ah._ That explained it. Of course Virg— Pepper, had no problem with her husband’s proclivities. They were each other’s convenient masks, shown off in public and laid aside in the privacy of their home.

Immediately, she had to stamp down upon the feelings that threatened to rise within her. Regardless of Pepper’s preferences, there was no reason to think that she would show interest in Christine. Likely she already had someone like Stephen who she couldn’t keep near for whatever reason. And besides, Christine had not taken a woman to bed in nearly a decade now. The thought of doing so again made her flustered and nervous, which was the opposite of how she wanted to seem to Pepper.

Christine started to respond, but then the piano music abruptly ended, followed by Stephen and Tony standing and walking to the door. “We’re retiring early,” Tony explained with an exaggerated smile.

Pepper rolled her eyes, but the corners of her mouth perked up. “I expected nothing less, dear husband.”

Tony started to retort, but then Stephen was pulling him out of the room, cutting him off.

Pepper laughed, laying back on the lounge. Christine tried to share in it, but instead she felt . . . awkward. And a little alone.

* * *

Christine resisted the urge to lay back on the bed, yawning. They were in Pepper’s room now, sitting casually on a pile of pillows on the bed with the bed hangings drawn around them. By then, they’d both dressed down and changed into their nightgowns, knowing they should go to sleep, but not wanting to stop talking. Pepper’s was so soft and light that it was almost sheer, and decorated with violet silk ribbons. At first, Christine had felt drab in comparison, but soon they had returned to their conversation, and her laughter distracted her.

Pepper was beautiful, gently lit by the ivory candles. Her hair seemed golden, angelic even. She had an easy smile and a perfect pink mouth. Christine couldn’t help how her gaze was drawn to that mouth . . . 

Pepper yawned suddenly, looking at a gilt candle nearby. “It’s so late. We really must get to sleep.”

“Oh,” Christine said dully, her throat tightening. “I’ll just . . . go to my room then.” She stood to do so, but stopped before she’d even made it to the door.

Pepper sat up on her hand, watching her. “Are you alright, Christine?”

Christine’s hand curled around the wall. “It’s just . . . I hate to sleep alone, and with Stephen with Tony . . .” She shook her head, mentally berating herself for being so rude. “But it’s no matter. I’ll go.”

“You will not!” Pepper got up, far faster than Christine would expect from her, and dragged the other woman back to the bed. “You’ll stay here, and sleep beside me. I’ll hear no more on the subject.”

Immediately Christine felt her face turn hot, knowing she was blushing like a virgin even as she tried to stop. She’d only meant to share her woes; she didn’t want to do something inappropriate and end up making one or both of them uncomfortable. It was hardly unheard of behavior, but usually between siblings or close friends, and with _them_ . . . there was a new context.

“I wouldn’t—”

“I insist,” Pepper said, unrelenting. “I can’t imagine leaving you alone right now.”

Christine knew she should argue more. But it was quite late, and the bed and Pepper’s arms were very welcoming, and she really didn’t want to be alone . . .

She slipped back into the bed and fell asleep after Pepper with the other woman’s arms around her.


	2. Chapter 2

_"I long and seek after"_

_— Sappho, Fragment 36_

Christine awoke when a maid came in and drew the hangings back from the windows and the bed. Light fell on her face, and she blinked tiredly as she came back to herself.

Her breath caught in her throat, and she started stumbling over herself to speak before she even moved. “I wasn’t— Nothing—”

The maid left without listening to her, as though there were nothing strange at all with finding a virtual strange in her mistress’s bed.

Christine watched the servant’s door for a moment before relaxing some. The Starks’ habits, it seemed, were not unknown to their staff.

She’d been so nervous about being caught that it took her another moment to take in the position she’d found herself in. At some point during the night, they’d switched spots. Now Christine was wrapped around Pepper, her feet along the taller woman’s calves. One of her hands was holding Pepper’s waist. The Marchioness’s nightgown had slipped, leaving one breast exposed with Christine’s hand curled around it. 

As soon as she realized what had happened, Christine jerked her hands away, rolling over to lie flat on her back. Beside her, Pepper mumbled quietly. Christine didn’t dare breathe until the other woman buried herself deeper into her blankets, fast asleep.

* * *

Christine laid back on the blanket as she nibbled a strawberry. A cloud had passed over the sun, preventing it from shining too brightly on them. Spotless marble statues towered above carefully tended flowers. Pepper was beside her on the blanket, and nearby, Stephen had been playing his violin but seemed to have stopped in favor holding Tony in his arms and whispering sweet nothings in his ear. They’d been eating, but now everyone was full and relaxing. 

It was odd. They’d only been there a week, and she felt she was settling in well. But usually Christine spent her time assisting Stephen and their patients, but here the only people were themselves, the Starks, and the house staff, the latter of which were far less busy with only four people to work for. It felt like there was something missing from the manor . . .

“These gardens would be so lively with children,” she said, almost unbidden.

Pepper seemed to start, looking surprised for the first time. Christine almost took back what she said. But then Pepper smiled. “Yes, they would.” Was it her imagination, or did Pepper’s hand sneak closer to her. “But not right now.”

Christine nodded. “No. Not right now.” She and Stephen hadn’t spoken of children since their own marriage a few years prior. It was something both of them wanted in the abstract, but neither wished to bring such a change about yet. She couldn’t tell how old Pepper was and hadn’t asked, but she didn’t seem to yet be at risk of passing her prime.

She was lost in the thought of Pepper as a mother, a baby in her arms, when Stephen stood up suddenly, speaking. “Tony’s going to show me to the stables.” He reached a hand down to help Tony up.

Tony was smiling, a sensual glint to his dark eyes. “We’re likely going to spend the rest of the afternoon riding.”

As soon as they were gone, Pepper laughed. “I doubt it is only the horse that will be ridden.”

Christine laughed with her, the odd feeling from earlier leaving her. “To be fair, Stephen _does_ love horses.”

Pepper picked up a leftover pastry from lunch. “If he can get Tony to go riding, I will know that you mean to stay forever.”

Christine did not know why she blushed. 

Pepper sat up some, looking around the gardens. “We should go out on the lake.”

Christine turned her head, looking at her. “What?”

“There’s a rowboat. Several, actually. We’ll take one out with a bottle of white wine to pass the time.”

Christine almost started to protest before realizing there was no reason. There was no one else around them, no one to hide from or behave in a certain way for. If she wanted to spend hours on the lake with just herself and Pepper, then there was no one to stop her. It was like they were in their own little world where they could do whatever they wanted. She decided she wanted to go with Pepper.

Christine took the first turn rowing, taking them out to the middle of the water. The lake was quite small, though apparently it got quite deep in the center. Pepper had piled pillows into the boat for them to rest on and was laying back now with a book open while Christine languidly rowed. 

Christine tried to look at the book cover, but there was nothing to give away what it was. “What are you reading?”

Pepper looked up. “A book of poems from the ancient Greek bard, Sappho. She’s not as famous as Homer or Virgil because so much of her work was lost and she was a woman, but she’s still remembered, even now.”

Christine paused, letting her arms rest as she laid back. The boat grew still. “Will you read some to me?”

Pepper arched an eyebrow, a smile that was almost shy on her lips. A moment later, she started reading.

“ _Deathless Aphrodite of the spangled mind,_ _  
__child of Zeus, who twists lures, I beg you_ _  
__do not break with hard pains,_ _  
__O lady, my heart_

_but come here if ever before_ _  
__you caught my voice far off_ _  
__and listening left your father’s_ _  
__golden house and came,_

_yoking your car. And fine birds brought you,_ _  
__quick sparrows over the black earth_ _  
__whipping their wings down the sky_ _  
__through midair—_

_they arrived. But you, O blessed one,_ _  
__smiled in your deathless face_ _  
__and asked what (now again) I have suffered and why_ _  
__(now again) I am calling out_

_and what I want to happen most of all_ _  
__in my crazy heart. Whom should I persuade (now again)_ _  
__to lead you back into her love? Who, O_ _  
__Sappho, is wronging you?_

_For if she flees, soon she will pursue._ _  
__If she refuses gifts, rather she will give them._ _  
__If she does not love, soon she will love_ _  
__even unwilling._

_Come to me now: loose me from hard_ _  
__care and all my heart longs_  
 _to accomplish, accomplish. You_ _  
__be my ally.”_

For a moment, the two women stared at each other, neither breathing. Nearby, a pair of swans glided along the water. Then— “Do you want me to row now?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was going to be longer, but I decided to take off (what was going to be) the last part and save it for the next one because it just made more sense that way. Sorry/not sorry


	3. Chapter 3

_“stars around the beautiful moon  
_ _hide back their luminous form  
_ _whenever all full she shines  
_ _on the earth_

_silvery”_

_— Sappho, Fragment 34_

“Lift your arm.”

Christine did as the seamstress said, raising her arms up so the woman could get a more accurate measurement. She was stripped down to just her plain white shift, the rest of her clothes discarded in a pile near her bed, and her hair was hastily pinned up to keep it out of the way. Stephen was sat at a desk nearby, silently writing up a new surgery technique that he wanted to test when he had the chance. 

One of the seamstress's apprentices drew her attention to a chest where bolts of fabric were arranged. “Which colors do you like?” All three of the dressmakers spoke with thick French accents, and it took a moment for Christine to puzzle out what she was even saying.

“The blue. Pale blue.” It felt incredibly awkward speaking to the women. They’d been at the manor for two months now, and she’d hardly spoken to anyone outside of the house. Now, she was paranoid that she would slip up somehow and give away Tony and Stephen’s secret. Or worse, her own feelings for Pepper — which was ridiculous, because she didn’t _have_ feelings for Pepper—

“Christine?”

She shook her head, realizing Stephen was speaking to her. “Yes, dear?” The term of endearment did not roll off her tongue, but needs must.

“Why isn’t Pepper here?” 

“What?” She was about to start stumbling over herself to ask why he would ask that before remembering. “Oh. No, she’s busy finalizing preparations for the party.”

The Marquis’s birthday was in only a few weeks now, and Lady Stark was planning to throw a proper masquerade to celebrate. Christine had sweated over the fact that she had nothing to wear to such an event for a full day before Pepper simply informed that she’d sent for her favorite seamstress to design and make her a new outfit for the party — along with new panniers, petticoats, stays, a riding habit, six gowns, and a _court dress_. Christine didn’t even know if she’d ever have occasion to _wear_ a court dress.

Stephen started to say something, but a knock sounded at the door, opening a moment later. “If I’m not interrupting?” Pepper stepped into the room a moment later, followed by two female servants carrying trays of tea and desserts. “On the table, please.” The women did as she told before disappearing behind an almost-invisible door to the servants’ stairs. “Oh, you look lovely.”

Christine blushed, viscerally aware of the fact that she was almost naked.

Stephen rolled his eyes, closing his book. “I suppose that’s my cue.” He made a show of kissing Christine's cheek before inclining his head to Pepper. "Lady Stark."

A moment later, he was gone, leaving the women alone. Christine swallowed, trying not to speak and embarrass herself.

Pepper looked at her, raising a tiny pastry to her mouth and taking a delicate bite. "What are you thinking so far?"

Christine half-shrugged before the seamstress hissed at her to put her arm back. "I think I like the pale blue fabric—"

Pepper saw what she was talking about and ran a finger over the silk bolt. "This? It's a bit plain for a ball, don't you think? This is your first proper introduction to high society. You should look grand and . . . _ethereal_."

 _Why did she pause?_ "What do you think we should go with then?"

Pepper looked up at her under the rim of her mini-tricorn hat. Her own dress was pale pink with cream pinstripes, decorated with darker pink ribbon at the waist and a silver broach. Classically beautiful, but casual enough to be a day dress. Born into her station or not, Pepper Stark clearly knew what she was doing.

Pepper took a bolt from one of the chests scattered around the room and unrolled it a bit to show off the pattern. "This dark blue is perfect, the color of the midnight sky, and the silver pattern reminds me of stars. Wear this, and you will be the Roman goddess Diana reborn."

Christine nodded along, imagining herself standing next to Pepper in such a dress, for once feeling like she might be enough. "With silver rosettes instead of bows; less common and more natural."

Pepper smiled. "I love that." She dipped her chin, looking shy, though Christine knew that she never really was. "And I asked our jeweler to prepare some necklaces for you to choose from. Nothing you had was worthy of you."

Before Christine could do anything other than stare and furiously try to keep herself from melting to the floor, Pepper turned to speak to the seamstress, starting in French before remembering Christine. "Flounces on the sleeves and petticoat, I believe, very fashionable right now. And perhaps a ruffle around the neck?"

A part of Christine thought that she should be annoyed or even offended at Pepper making such choices for her. 

But she found she liked the idea of Pepper taking care of her.

* * *

Christine walked into the ballroom with her Stephen on her arm and Pepper to her side. The manor was alive in a way it had never been before, filled to bursting with more than a hundred guests all in their finest clothes. Thousands of candles had been lit, filling the rooms with warm light that made the elaborate paintings that covered the walls and ceilings seem more powerful. Laughter rose from the gambling and game tables. Both in the building and the gardens, singers, dancers, and musicians performed to the delight of their guests. Wine and flowers perfumed the air.

Christine felt as though she'd transformed with the manor. Her stays were done tighter than normal, and the midnight blue and silver gown was far more opulent than anything she'd ever worn. Diamonds decorated her hands and ears, and the choker was just tight enough that she knew it would be uncomfortable by the end of the night. A dark blue Venetian mask with white sapphires adorned her face, tied in the back with a silk ribbon. Her hair had been done by a team of three maids in the French fashion, tightly curled and coiled around her head instead of simply tied back with a ribbon like how she normally did it, and two blue ostrich feathers finished the look. Her cheeks were rogued, her lips ruby-red.

She felt beautiful.

Pepper pulled her around the room, introducing her to everyone of note — lords and ladies and merchants and army officers and foreign nobles. Merlot and champagne flowed freely, and Christine soon felt herself turn light and giggly and happy under their influence. Beside her, Pepper was a goddess in a cream gown with a brocade pattern made of gold foil, a matching gold mask, and white roses in her hair. She smelled sweet, like candy and berries. More than once Christine caught herself leaning in to smell her neck.

Pepper didn't stop her.

There was so much talking and laughter that she had no time to dance before dinner was served. "This is just a first course," Pepper explained. "There will be more at ten, then at midnight when the chef brings out the cake, and again at two."

They were seated at a table with Tony, Stephen, Lieutenant James Rhodes, Doctor Bruce Banner, a man called Thor who claimed to be a banished prince from Norway, and Natalia Romanov, apparently a cousin of the Russian Empress.

They made interesting company. Thor told them loud, boisterous tales of battles he'd (supposedly) been in and of the games he played with his brother when they were children. Rhodey had a different take on the military, bemoaning the politics of it all and the difficulty that was being in the colonies and how glad he was to be back home. Pepper said he should visit more. Christine, remembering that he was the one who brought Tony and Stephen together, agreed. On the occasion that Tony could coax Bruce out of his shell, he spoke animatedly about his research in the movements of Earth and the stars. All in all, Christine would have been quite happy with their company . . .

If not for Natalia Romanov.

The red-haired Russian spoke only to Thor, Tony, and Pepper, switching from Russian to English and back again with practiced ease, making it impossible for Christine to keep up with what she said. She was dressed in black and red, but the colors only served to make her look dramatic and interesting, not mournful or pale. Her eyes were large and dark and sensual, and she moved with a natural grace. Her English was unaccented, but there was an undertone to her voice that made Christine feel like she was being mocked whenever the woman deigned to speak in her direction.

And there was none she spoke to more than Pepper. 

The Russian leaned over to Pepper, her lips a hair's breadth away from her ear. "Where did you find you find the English rose? She is new."

It took Christine an embarrassingly long time to realize she meant her.

For the first time since they'd met, Pepper seemed uncomfortable. "She's Stephen's wife. The Stranges are staying with us."

"Ah." Natalia looks Christine up and down before taking a small bite of her duck. "Well, she has a sort of . . . dainty prettiness to her. Like a cute little mouse."

By then, Stephen seemed to have realized what was happening and, with a venomous look on his sharp face, was about to interject—

"Let's dance!" Pepper stood up suddenly and gestured to the nearest set of musicians. Her hand took Christine's just as the music changed, and her heart sang.

Soon, everyone was getting to their feet, and Natalia was lost in the crowd. Tony, Stephen, Pepper, and Christine formed a circle in the center of the ballroom and danced in time to the lively music. The playful flute notes and sweet wine and happiness at Pepper's closeness soon overtook her, and Christine forgot that she'd even been upset. 

They whirled around each other for the better part of an hour, sometimes as a group, and sometimes in pairs, Christine with Stephen or Tony and occasionally Pepper. Her dress didn't seem to way an ounce, and the jewels she wore caught the candlelight beautifully.

But eventually her feet grew sore, and she was convinced to sit down. For the rest of the night, she was never alone. Pepper or Stephen or Tony were always with her, although the latter was somewhat restrained by the necessity of mingling with his guests. They played at the gambling tables, ate, and even enjoyed an unusually bawdy performance of _Romeo and Juliet_.

It was only after midnight, when the elaborate cake had been brought out and politely devoured, that they had a moment alone. The two women walked arm in arm through the gardens, their masks and the darkness preventing anyone from inflicting their presence upon the hostess. They leaned into each other, speaking in gentle whispers. "Are you enjoying yourself?"

Christine nodded. "Everything is so enchanting. It's like a dream." She'd never imagined she'd have a night like this, or live in the manor of a nobleman, or know a woman like Pepper.

"You seemed unhappy earlier," Pepper said, a look of worry on her face. "When the duchess was speaking."

Christine shook her head. It seemed distant now, and she only wanted to focus on the woman beside her. "I don't care about what she said. I can handle that. I am _not_ , in fact, a mouse." She laughed at her own joke before sobering. "But Pepper . . . I could not bear the way she looked at you."

They stopped walking, standing alone in a secluded part of the garden. A patch of violets watched them. It was nearly summer, but the English night was cool enough that they'd worn their cloaks.

Pepper stepped closer to her, slowly, like she thought it wasn't allowed. "How did she look at me?"

Christine stared, her mouth suddenly dry. "I . . . I don't . . ."

Pepper's hand curled around her cheek. Her fingernails grazed Christine's scalp, sending shivers down her spine. "Did she look at me like I look at you?" She moves closer, and Christine can feel her lips on her jaw. "Like this?"

Christine's hands moved of their own will, grappling for something's to hold onto and finding the other woman's waist. "Pepper . . ."

They kiss, and it's everything she thought it would be. Pepper is more experienced than her, and on the occasion that she's allowed herself to think of it, she imagined that Pepper would be enthusiastic, forceful and strong-willed. Instead she was gentle, the kiss close-mouthed as her hands framed Christine's face. It was Christine who deepened the kiss, who opened her mouth and coaxed Pepper to do the same, who pulled her down to the grass in a pile of silk and lace and warmth. 

Pepper lay on her side, protected from the grass by her cloak. Christine's hand traveled up her stomach and chest to her neck, holding her close. Her blood was warm. Her entire body was sensitive, yearning for Pepper's touch and rejoicing when she received it. She broke away from the kiss, whispering as though in the sweetest pain. “ _You burn me._ ”

Pepper shivered, eyes widening. She forced herself to stand and took Christine by the wrist. “Come with me.”

Pepper had to repeat herself before Christine listened. Her head was heavy, and it was hard to listen when she was so focused on the sight of Pepper in the moonlight and the feeling of her hand on her skin. So much so that it took a minute to realize where they were going; through the servants’ entrance and up the narrow, barely-lit stairs. She followed the other woman until they were in Pepper’s room, alone.

Then Pepper’s hands were working to remove Christine’s gown, and her voice was soft and admonishing at the same time. “How can you say I burn you? Have you any idea what you do to me?” She pulled Christine into a kiss, and they did not break apart as they pulled at each other’s clothes and jewelry. Pepper pressed their foreheads together, bumping Christine’s nose with her own. “I have lost myself to you.” 

She couldn’t wait anymore. Silk was ripped and jewels sent scattering across the floor. Somehow Pepper made her mahogany hair fall from its elaborate curls and down her back. She spread kisses over Pepper’s slender neck, her hands finding their way up the lady’s shift. The low-cut neckline of the Marchioness’s gowns had shown off her perfect breasts on more than one occasion, and now Christine ran the flat of her palms over them, caressing the supple flesh and sending sparks of electricity through the other woman’s body. Pepper's hands were tight on her shoulders, like she was scared that if she let go, Christine would disappear and the dream would dissolve into mist.

Unwilling to wait any longer, Pepper pushed them back to the bed, holding Christine down and climbing atop of her. She raises her shift over her head, and then she was naked except for her silk stockings, pale moonlight the only thing illuminating her blonde-red hair.

Christine whimpered. She wanted to meet Pepper touch-for-touch, but the wine and stimulation had only provided her with a few moments of confidence. Now she let Pepper take the lead, let her settle between Christine’s legs and do whatever she will. The lady kissed the pale skin of her thighs, and then . . . _oh . . ._

Her mouth found Christine’s clit and her fingers caressed the slick folds. Her touch was sure and knowing, but gentle. Every movement brought Christine closer to the edge of pleasure, making her breaths quicken and her heart beat faster. When Pepper’s mouth and hands move faster, Christine used a pillow to silence her cries, shuddering under her lady’s bright eyes and knowing touch.

Pepper lay beside her when it was done, taking one of Christine’s long-fingered hands and guiding it between her legs. Emboldened, Christine lavished kisses and careful bites on her breasts. When Pepper came, seizing the other woman’s hand as her entire body shivered and ached, it was Christine’s name on her lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope y’all know I did so much research for this chapter. The clothes, the masquerade, the House of Romanov (did you know the Romanovs produced at least four female rulers?), the lesbian sex. I worked for this.
> 
> “You burn me” is also a fragment from Sappho. I didn’t think it would work as a header quote, so I incorporated it into the dialogue because I’m Literary~~~
> 
> Oh ... don't get too comfy after that last chapter ... challenges are coming ... ooooooh
> 
> *chapter edited because I had a Sappho poem I really wanted to use for this chapter, then forgot about it and did a different one, mea culpa


	4. Chapter 4

_“Eros shook my_ _  
__mind like a mountain wind falling on oak trees”_

_— Sappho, Fragment 47_

The next night and every one after that, Christine fell into Pepper's bed in a wave of kisses and touches and gentle, knowing hands. They spent even more time together during the day, riding through the lake woods, taking boats out on the pond, playing music and games, reading and writing poetry, gardening and having picnics. It was like they lived in their own little Eden, away from the problems of the world.

She supposed it was her fault for thinking it was last.

They didn't tell Stephen or Tony about their relationship. At first, it just didn't occur to her. It seemed so obvious, that they should be able to just look upon them and _know_. After that, it was because . . . well, she supposed they were selfish. Or maybe scared. They wanted to keep this for just themselves, private and precious and beautiful. What they had was a dream. If they spoke of it to their husbands, it would be real, and that which was real could be harmed.

She ought to have known that even dreams could be broken.

Pepper was quiet that morning. Deathly quiet. Worse than that was the fact that Tony was too. In Christine's experience, Stark never _stopped_ talking, be it sharp-tongued jokes, chatter about his latest inventions or experiments, or bawdy tales from his youth.

Christine looked around the table, catching Stephen’s eye for a moment. He seemed as confused as her. 

“Are you in good health, Anthony?” she asked. The Marquis had a heart condition that Stephen and Pepper worried over. Had something happened to make it worse?

Tony looked up as though startled, and smiled reassuringly, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Of course not. And I haven’t been in many years.” He sipped from his water. “Think nothing of it.”

Stephen frowned, clearly not buying it, but deciding to confront Tony later, in private. Christine resolved to do the same with Pepper.

She need not have bothered. They were in the drawing-room, Christine reading a copy of one of Da Vinci’s works whilst Pepper worked on a painting of the gardens, when the Marchioness spoke.

“You needn’t come to my bed tonight. Tony and I are attempting to have a child again.” Then she returned to her painting like nothing happened.

For a minute, Christine simply stared at her. She was almost certain that she’d misheard, that Pepper hadn’t spoken at all. But no. She was only lying to herself. Pepper did not speak again, nor even look at her for the better part of an hour.

She should have seen it coming. It was a fact of their situation. The Starks needed a child, an heir. The necessity did not go away just because of Christine and Stephen.

But to just be _told_ , so swift and coldly, like there was no reason to discuss it with her beforehand, that she was not important enough for Pepper to have a real conversation with her . . . She hadn't thought to see the reality of the situation so plainly laid out for her.

She didn't answer. To answer would be to make it real, to force a conversation where it was clear that none was wanted. Where _she_ was not wanted.

Christine returned to her book, and waited for the day to end.

* * *

She didn't know why she was surprised that Stephen appeared in her — _their_ — room that night. Perhaps she'd thought that if she didn't acknowledge what was happening, it would simply disappear. But no such luck. Stephen came and stiffly prepared for bed, every movement conveying a man on his way to the gallows.

Christine put out the candles before awkwardly crawling into bed, lying beside her husband. Even in the dark, she could make out Stephen staring stone-faced up at the ceiling, clearly asking himself the same questions as Christine — Had it already started? How long would it take? Did they enjoy it? How would they ever go back to normal in the morning?

Christine was so desperate to break herself out of her thoughts that she turned to Stephen and asked, "Do you think we should—"

"No," Stephen said immediately and curtly, barely an acknowledgment.

She tried not to be hurt. Stephen didn't know what had happened between her and Pepper. He couldn't be blamed for his temper, especially when she felt the same way.

"Very well," Christine said quietly, rolling onto her other side so that they weren't facing each other.

Stephen must have felt bad about what he said — perhaps Stark was a good influence on him. A moment later, Christine felt his arm settle on her waist as he softly kissed her hair. "I am sorry, Christine. But Tony . . ." He sighed, and Christine felt worse for both of them. "Nevermind. Let's just go to sleep."

Christine put her hand over his in a moment of solidarity. Slowly, he drifted into sleep, and she followed.

* * *

By the next morning, everyone seemed determined to go on as before. They ate breakfast together in awkward silence, and spent the day as a group, each of them hoping that the other pair would prevent the conversation from steering towards what they all knew to have happened. 

For a time, it even worked. It was raining outside, so they were stuck together in the manor. They ate and read and drew in almost complete silence. When Stephen declined to play the piano after dinner, Tony didn't respond.

But there was no way to prevent night from falling. Eventually they will free tired enough that bed seemed like a reasonable option. Christine and Pepper went to the Marchioness's room as they usually did, and Christine had a maid help her undress instead of her lover. Through the walls, they could hear Stephen and Tony arguing.

Christine only realized the depth of her own resentment when they were lying board-stiff in bed and she asked with scarcely contained venom, "Are you certain you want to be here tonight? Maybe it didn't take."

As soon as she saw Pepper flinch, she wanted to take it back. A moment later, the lady said, "Christine, when . . . Nothing happened between Tony and I. Neither of us . . . We couldn't. It wasn't right."

Despite herself, Christine felt guilty. Pepper did not say it, but she knew what it was that prevented Anthony and Pepper from doing their duty.

 _Stephen._ Then . . . _Us._

They lay in silence for a moment. Then Christine rolled over in bed, and snuggled into Pepper's side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... wow ... it almost seems like everything is okay ... almost
> 
> OK, at this point it's looking like either 6 or 7 chapters, I guess you'll find out when I do


	5. Chapter 5

_“Moon has set_ _  
_ _and Pleiades: middle_ _  
_ _night, the hour goes by,_ _  
_ _alone I lie.”_

_— Sappho, Fragment 343_

It was immediately obvious that Tony and Stephen’s conversation hadn’t gone as well. By the next morning, Stephen and Tony’s relationship had turned frosty. They didn’t speak to each other once during breakfast, and only looked at each other when they were sure the other wouldn’t see them. When they were done eating, Tony took off riding alone and didn’t return all afternoon.

Christine walked down the halls, alone. She could feel the back of her neck heating up. Her dress seemed tighter than usual. 

She knocked on the door of Tony’s room. “Stephen? May I speak with you?”

A moment passed before Stephen reluctantly opened the door, looking down at her. His eyes were rimmed red. “Yes, Christine?”

She couldn’t help but stare. She had hardly ever seen Stephen cry in all their years of knowing each other. Suddenly she felt guilty for concerning herself with her own fears when her husband — and more importantly, her friend — was hurting. “May I come in?”

Soon, Stephen was an absolute mess, laying on the lounge and leaning against Christine’s shoulder, her delicate fingers passing through his hair. “I don’t know what happened, Christine. One moment we were just speaking, and then the next we were yelling at each other. I don’t even remember what I said." He hesitated before adding. "I think he's going to ask us to leave."

Christine's heart stopped. She wondered what would happen then. If Pepper would intervene on her behalf, if Tony would overrule her, if they would be forced to leave. If she ever loved someone else like this.

Christine settled her chin on the top of Stephen’s head, holding him.

* * *

Eventually, Stephen tired himself out so much that he fell asleep in bed. Christine gingerly removed his shoes and coat before leaving.

From there, she didnt’t think much. Her mind took over, and before she knew what she was doing, she was standing outside of the stables. It was an unusually cold summer day, and only got worse as the sun went down. Anticipating this, she took one of Pepper’s cloaks and draped it over her shoulders.

She waited for more than an hour. By the time she heard the horse approaching, it was dark out, with barely enough light from the moon and a lantern to see by.

When Tony was close enough, she spoke. “You shouldn’t be riding in the dark.” The Marquis started when he saw her, approaching closely. “You could get hurt, and how would we find you?”

Tony shrugged. “I’m sure you’d make do.” He made his way down from the house and passed the reigns to a stableboy before walking away.

Christine followed him. “What would Pepper do if you were hurt? If you died?” She managed to step in front of him, her soft white gown making her the most visible thing in the darkness. “What about Stephen?”

Tony scoffed, pushing past her. “Stephen wouldn’t care. He would just find the next rich man with a bed big enough for his ego and jump right in.”

Christine grabbed his arm, blood boiling. “ _That’s not true._ ”

Tony stilled, seeming surprised by her outburst. Christine’s eyes softened. “He loves you. I have never known Stephen to feel as strongly for someone as he does you.”

Tony’s eyes darkened. “Liar. He’s never said that to me, not once.”

It was an effort not to slap him. “Have you said it to him?”

His silence was answer enough.

“Stephen _cares_ , Tony. But he’s been alone so much for so long that he doesn’t know any other way to be. He needs assurance that you feel the same way.” 

Tony seemed to think about it for a minute before gently taking his arm back from Christine. “I’ll talk to him about it.” He started to walk away before pausing to add, “You might want to stay with Pepper until then. Neither of you are subtle.”

If Christine blushed, then at least he couldn’t see her.

* * *

Stephen was packing a chest full of his things when he heard the door open. "What is it now—"

Tony stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. "What are you doing?"

Stephen turned away, refusing to cry again. "I figured there was no point in waiting for you to tell me what I already know." He hesitated before adding a book that Tony had given him to the pile. "We'll leave as soon as we're able."

"I don't want you to leave."

Stephen stopped, not looking at him. “It’d be nice if I could tell what you were thinking every now and then.”

“I’m telling you now.” He walked over, taking Stephen’s hand, stilling him. “I want you to _stay_ , Stephen. Here, with me. There’s nothing I want more.”

Stephen looked away from him, refusing to show the grief and hope in his eyes. “I don’t know if I’m a good fit for you. For this place.”

“No one could do it better. And if they could, I still wouldn’t want them.”

Stephen could feel his resolve weakening. He turned slightly, facing Tony with wavering eyes. “I love you.” It hurt to get the words out. He could count on one hand the number of people he’d said that to, and have fingers left over.

Tony pulled Stephen’s hand up, gently pressing his lips to the tips of his fingers before taking Stephen’s face in hand and kissing him properly. When he whispered the words back, Stephen sunk into his hold and let his tears flow freely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, I've thought it all, we got two more chapters, one is smut and the other is an epilogue.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> short, but smutty

_“cloth dripping”_

_— Sappho, Fragment 119_

Christine fell back on the bed, Pepper following after her, climbing atop the other woman and straddling her slim hips. She ducked down to whisper in her lover’s ear. “Are you sure of this?”

Christine smiled, ducking her head into the crook of Pepper's neck and kissing her shoulder. "Yes." She was nervous — unbelievably nervous — but she knew she still wanted to do this. 

Pepper nodded, shakily kissing her across her nose and cheeks and finally on her lips. They were pressed together, the smooth silk of their nightgowns sliding against each other. More confident than she'd been only a few months ago, Christine let her hand trail up Pepper's leg, gently rubbing patterns on her thigh. She inhaled, closing her eyes. “You’re beautiful.” With her red hair, blue eyes, and clean white gown, Pepper resembled a portrait of Aphrodite that they kept in the library.

Pepper chuckled. “You’re one to talk." She trailed a hand down Christine's chest, cupping her breast. "My perfect English Rose." She played with the bow holding the front of Christine's gown together, gently pulling the ribbons out. "There is no one I would rather have."

Christine lowered her eyes, blushing under her love's gaze. From the chaise lounge, she could hear Stephen kissing Tony's neck, his hand around the Marquis's cock. Their husbands were naked, wrapped up in each other. Already Stephen had oiled four of his fingers, and two were already employed in spreading Tony's hole open.

She shivered when Pepper pulled her nightgown low, dipping her head to take a nipple in her mouth. Christine keened, arching her back. Her blood grew hot as her pleasure grew, and a rush of passion overcame her. In an instant, she flipped Pepper over onto her back, holding her arms to either side of her head. 

Pepper laughed in delight. "Thorny rose."

Christine reddened. "Perhaps." Not wanting her courage to abandon her, she pushed the bottom of Pepper's nightgown up and lowered her mouth to her lover's clit, two fingers stroking her folds. Pepper purred, eyes fluttering shut as she nodded. "Yes, that's good, keep doing that. Move your mouth, yes, like that, I like that . . ."

Christine obeyed, half-burying her face in Pepper's cunt as she licked and swirled her tongue, edging a finger in and curling it forward. Pepper was so warm and slick, and she had never thought to enjoy the taste of a woman so much.

She had three fingers deep in her lover when she said, "Now . . . is now good? Should we . . ."

It took a moment for Pepper to respond, her eyes blown and glazed over. "Yes, we should . . . Tony!"

She heard the Lord gasp, looking over at them with wide brown eyes. "Oh, yeah . . ." He chuckled, turning quickly to bite Stephen's neck. "Almost forgot about that part." He put his hands on Stephen's shoulders, levering himself up with a slick noise and a cheeky moan. Christine rolled her eyes.

The women moved aside, creating room for Tony and Stephen to join them. Christine faced Pepper, curling her feet against the Marchioness's calves. Pepper caressed Christine's cheek. Tony popped up behind his wife's back, his forehead pressed to the back of her neck. "Are you alright?"

Pepper chuckled. "I know how it's done, Tony." She sat up some to pull her nightgown off completely, tossing it to the of the bed. "Don't keep me in suspense." 

Tony did as she said, sliding his cock into her. Pepper sucked I'm a breath, holding Christine's hand and squeezing. Behind Tony, Stephen was curled around his back, fucking him slowly as Tony did the same. Christine kissed her love, slowly kneading her clit. Pepper moaned into her mouth, one hand gripping Christine's arm and the other palming her breast.

"Yes, keep . . . keep going . . . oh, fuck, Tony . . . _Christine_ , please, please, do that again love—"

Pepper almost sang as she came, and Christine closed her eyes in blissful happiness.


	7. Epilogue: Family of Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *warning: semi-graphic description of childbirth

_“someone will remember us_   
_I say_ _  
_ even in another time”

_— Sappho, Fragment 147_

Christine rushed into the room as quickly as she could without sending water over the side of the bowl she was carrying, setting it down on the table by the bed and soaking a clean rag in the water. She pressed it to Pepper’s forehead, cleaning the sweat and tears away. “Almost there, love,” she said softly, holding Pepper’s hand and letting her squeeze as hard as she could. “You’re doing so well.”

Pepper tossed her head from side-to-side, biting back a scream. “I’m not. Christine, I can’t . . . _Oh . . ._ ”

“You’re going to be alright, Pepper,” Stephen said assuringly. “Just push a few more times, and the baby will be here, I promise.” He stood at the foot of the bed, face serious. He was wearing his doctor clothes now, stripped down from his typical elegant outfits with his coat tossed to the side and his hands were pink from being scrubbed with soap. His eyes were tired, but steady. “Just one right now, and think of the rest later.”

Pepper sounded like she might scream, but she did as he said. Her feet were weakly planted on the bed, her legs spread wide, leaving her exposed in her sweat-soaked gown. Her stomach was huge and close to bursting. She shook and cried out with every moment.

Tony stood on Pepper’s other side, both hands clasped around her own, obvious worry painted on his face. “You can’t stop now, Pep, you’re so close—”

Pepper squeezed his hand so hard that he winced, then made an expression that could only be described as baring her teeth. “ _I KNOW THAT—_ ” A sudden pain overtook her, and she screamed as she pushed again, another time after more than seven hours—

Another kind of wailing filled the air, quieter and more high-pitched. Pepper slumped onto the bed, and Tony comforted her while Christine rushed a towel over to Stephen.

“Congratulations,” Stephen said, wrapping the blood and white vernix off of the baby. “It’s a boy.” Christine helped clean him, and when they had calmed the baby boy down enough and swaddled him in a blanket, Stephen carefully handed him to Pepper.

She was exhausted, blood, and still in pain, but she smiled. “Hello, baby Peter. Welcome to our family.”

**Author's Note:**

> Most poems taken from Anne Carson’s translations of Sappho’s poetry in "If Not, Winter"


End file.
